Healing, Glowing, and Growing – One Act of Self-Care At a Time

For so long, I told myself my childhood wasn’t that bad.

I minimized the pain. I excused the words. I believed that being “toughened up” was love – that it was just the way families were.

But now, as an adult raising children of my own, I see the truth with a clarity that hurts:

What I called tough love was actually emotional neglect.

What I thought was “character building” was control through fear.

And what I was told would make me strong, really just taught me how to survive without ever feeling safe.

When Tough Love Becomes Trauma

In my childhood, tough love meant silence instead of comfort.

It meant being told to “stop crying” when I was hurt, and to “get over it” when something broke my heart.

It meant affection was earned, not given.

It meant mistakes were not moments for growth, but proof that I was still a disappointment.

And when I did mess up – even in small, childish ways – forgiveness never came. Instead, my mistakes were archived like ammunition, brought up again and again to remind me of how flawed I was.

No matter how much time passed, I could never outgrow my errors.

There was no clean slate, no grace, no redemption – just shame recycled through every new argument.

And so, I learned that love was conditional.

That forgiveness was a myth.

That perfection was the only way to be safe.

But living that way isn’t living – it’s performing for approval that never truly comes.

The Damage of “Sticks and Stones”

I can still hear that phrase from childhood echoing in my mind:

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”

It was supposed to build resilience, but all it built was silence.

Because words did hurt me.

They shaped how I saw myself, how I valued my worth, and how I processed love.

Being told that “words don’t hurt” was gaslighting in disguise. It invalidated the deep ache that comes from constant criticism, mockery, and emotional distance.

When you’re told over and over that your pain isn’t real, you start to believe it.

You start to believe you aren’t real – that your feelings, your needs, and your truth don’t matter.

That mantra didn’t protect me.

It silenced me. It hurt me. It broke me.

And it has taken years to unlearn the damage it caused.

The Weight of Invalidation and Never Being Forgiven

In my house, there was no space for grace.

Mistakes – no matter how small – were never forgotten.

If I spoke out of turn, it was used against me months later.

If I failed, it became part of my identity.

If I tried to explain my feelings, I was told I was rude, talking back, and overreacting.

Forgiveness was something other people received – not me.

I grew up believing that being wrong once meant being wrong forever.

That kind of environment doesn’t just break confidence; it breeds lifelong shame. It teaches you to tiptoe through life, terrified of being misunderstood or misjudged. It teaches you to apologize even when you haven’t done anything wrong.

When forgiveness doesn’t exist, self-forgiveness feels impossible.

And that’s the hardest part of healing for me – learning to give myself the compassion no one ever taught me how to receive.

Parenting While Healing: Breaking the Cycle

Parenting has been both my greatest joy and my deepest mirror. Watching my children cry, express frustration, and ask for comfort brings me face-to-face with the version of me that was never allowed to do the same.

When they make mistakes, I feel that old familiar tension rise in my chest – the instinct to correct harshly, to teach through discipline instead of empathy. But then I try to remember to pause.

I remember what it felt like to be punished for being human.

I remember what it felt like to never be forgiven.

And I remind myself: they deserve safety more than I deserved silence.

So I kneel down. I breathe. I say, “It’s okay. I love you anyway.”

And every time I do that, I heal a small piece of the child I once was.

Parenting while healing means breaking patterns I never agreed to inherit.

It means being gentle even when it feels unnatural.

It means forgiving my kids quickly – and forgiving myself slowly.

Thirty Years Later: Grieving What I Never Got

I am well into adulthood now – over thirty years removed from those early years – and I’m finally learning to grieve.

I grieve the forgiveness I never received.

The softness I never felt.

The apologies that never came.

The words of comfort that were replaced with silence and shame.

I grieve the child who was made to believe that love had to hurt, that mistakes made her unworthy, that she had to earn her right to be seen.

Grieving this doesn’t mean I’m stuck in the past. It means I’m finally acknowledging it. It means I’ve stopped pretending the pain was discipline or love. It means I’ve stopped minimizing my own story.

Healing isn’t about blaming anyone – it’s about freeing myself from the lies I was raised to believe.

Unlearning Survival, Relearning Love

Healing now looks like giving myself what I once needed from others: forgiveness, patience, and understanding.

It’s catching my inner critic mid-sentence and choosing compassion instead.

It’s learning that strength isn’t silence.

It’s realizing that “tough love” without tenderness isn’t love at all – it’s control wrapped in fear.

The little girl inside me who was told that words couldn’t hurt finally knows the truth:

They absolutely do.

But they also have the power to heal.

So now, I speak differently – to my children, to myself, and to the world.

I no longer weaponize words the way they were once weaponized against me.

I use them to nurture, to forgive, to rebuild.

This Is What Healing Looks Like

Healing from emotional neglect and abuse 30+ years later is incredibly messy, and often painful. But it’s also freeing.

I survived a childhood without forgiveness.

Now, I’m learning to live in adulthood filled with grace.

I’m not who I was told I was.

I’m not my mistakes.

I’m not the sum of their words.

I’m someone learning – day by day – that softness isn’t weakness, that love doesn’t have to hurt, and that forgiveness can start with me.

Because for the first time in my life, I’m no longer just surviving love – I’m finally feeling it.

You can explore the tools I have created for my own personal healing journey here:

👉 Stan Store: https://stan.store/Shroompy